


Wild Mountain Thyme

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, High Fantasy, Humor, Prank Wars, Sabotage, Sorcerers, Sorceresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: In 17th century Scotland, two head-strong magic users compete to win a coveted spot on the high council.Alternately known as that one time Hermione and Draco engaged in a vicious battle for supremacy, nearly destroying the castle in their determination to reign victorious over the other.Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter Franchise





	Wild Mountain Thyme

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my fabulous friend K that gave this an extra proofread for me at the last minute. They are a rockstar.
> 
> Thanks to RoryEgg for being amazingly supportive and helpful with this. She is the bee's knees.
> 
> Title taken from "Wild Mountain Thyme." My favorite is an instrumental version by Edward Gerhard and is what I listened to on repeat while writing.

 

 

A small figure made their way down a stone-lined corridor, fast feet making not a sound as they hurried along. With their features shrouded by a velvet cloak pulled tightly about their shoulders, they stayed to the shadows, quiet as a mouse. They took a sharp left, heading towards the kitchens.

Entering the kitchens was always an overwhelming sensory experience. The heat from the ovens and the scent of roasting meat were there to greet any visitors, making the face sweat and mouth water.

Dodging the kitchen staff as they stirred, kneaded, and wrapped sweet-smelling loaves of bread in linen, the figure had nearly reached the heavy wooden door leading outside when a booming voice called out behind them, “Oi! Hermione! Where are you off to in such a hurry, lass?”

Hermione spun in the direction of the call, thankful to recognize a friendly presence and not someone ready to tell her off for sneaking around.

Her eyes lighted upon the owner of the voice, a husky man currently being scolded by the head of the kitchens for stealing a roll from the tray, straight from the oven. Marjorie slapped his beefy hand away from her freshly baked delights, shaking her head, though she hid a smile.

It was hard not to smile at Hagrid. A large man of gentle temperament, he took care of the castle grounds and was a fierce friend to all.

“Hello, Hagrid. Marjorie.” She nodded in the direction of the plump woman that kept them all fed, and Hermione tried to keep her voice steady, though she was a bit out of breath from her scurry. “I was just—well, I was in need of some fresh air! Yes, fresh air. I simply had to take a stroll.”

Marjorie looked a bit suspicious of the rushed words, but if she had a theory she didn’t voice it.

Hagrid nodded vigorously, going on about the beauty of the day and the storm he suspected to roll in soon.

“The beasts, they sense when a storm is a-comin'. Gettin’ all restless-like. You make sure you get back before the skies open and rain fury on your head, Miss Hermione.”

Paying little heed to the warning, desperate to take her leave, she murmured an acknowledgement to the concerned man and slipped out the door.

Finally free of the suffocating confines of wood and stone, Hermione allowed herself a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of heather and the promise of rain.

The grass was cool against her bare feet, and she spread her toes to feel the ground beneath her. The earth responded, sending the ancient magic of mother nature to thrum through her blood.

The land surrounding the keep sat on a deep well of old magic, making the very air hum with promise. The greenery past the eastern boundary beckoned her. She heeded the call, walking in the direction of the forest. She went deeper and deeper—skillfully navigating the gnarled trees and tangled brambles until she came to stop in a glade that sang with new growth.

She felt closest to the centre of her magic when her skin touched the earth. With palms turned to the sky, she closed her eyes, reaching from within for the tendrils of her power and securing them, picturing them threading together.

Concentrating on the rhythm of life surrounding her, Hermione moved her feet to twirl in a circle and she watched as vines sprung from the dirt, fashioning themselves into a swinging bench.

Her face lit up, eyes scrunched and cheeks pink with delight.

That never got old, no matter how many times she did it.

She took care to avoid sharp stones hiding in the long grass, delicately stepping up to her makeshift swing, lying upon it with her long hair trailing down beside her to brush across the grass.

She summoned a breeze and closed her eyes as it slowly propelled her back and forth, while she hummed the tune of an old folk song. A song her mother would use to sing her to sleep, with a gentle hand brushing back Hermione's hair as her sleepy eyes would slowly close. Now, as a nearly grown woman, when she closed her eyes and sang the lyrics she could see her mother's face again, so clear in her mind.

_“Oh, the summertime is comin'_

_And the trees are sweetly bloomin'_

_And the wild mountain thyme_

_Grows around the purple heather_

_Will ye go? Lassie, go?”_

This clearing was her happy place; a secret sanctuary that was hers alone. Somewhere she could come to steady herself and clear her mind of distractions. This had been her special spot since she was a child, when Madame Fleur found her running amok in the village, six years old and parentless after her mother died.

Fleur frequently boasted about Hermione's unique upbringing. The little girl had touched something that had long gone dormant in Fleur's heart. She had sensed the great potential in Hermione, befriending her, making sure her little belly stayed full and that she had clean clothes. They bonded, and Hermione grew to trust and care for the older woman who came to visit her often, always bringing food and pretty dresses made of soft fabric.

After months of this, the beautiful lady with the kind blue eyes had told Hermione that, if she wanted, she could have a home with her own bed and meals 3 times a day. She wouldn't have to be scared anymore. She wouldn't have to be alone.

When Fleur brought Hermione back with her, the elders had been reluctant to allow her sanctuary. After all, their stuffy castle wasn’t a home for wayward children. It was a bastion of scholars and skilled sorcerers, the protectors of the old magic.

Madame Fleur was a force to be reckoned with, though, and soon the elders gave in and allowed her to take the child in—as long as she brought Hermione up properly, in the knowledge of the old ways.

Fleur had been no stranger to fighting authority, having denounced her royal heritage in favour of living a simple life and helping others.

On her fifth slow inhale and exhale, Hermione redirected her thoughts from the past back to what she had overheard in the keep's massive library, just a bit earlier.

The Croí na Cruinne was searching to fill a vacant spot left by the widow Mathews, who'd died from spotted fever just this spring.

The council operated in secrecy. There was not a great deal known about what one's duties might be if serving in its ranks, other than to protect the magic that ran underneath the moors. But serving on the council granted a person untold amounts of knowledge, and a level of respect Hermione did not currently possess.

Her brain jumped into overdrive, flying through of all the possibilities, dreaming of everything she could do if she secured the position.

It was rather unheard of for someone so young to be appointed to the Croí na Cruinne but she was certain that if anyone could do it, it would be her.

Hermione was not an arrogant girl; she was simply confident in her abilities.

She didn’t know precisely what it would take to catch the eyes of the council members but she would learn. She would keep her eyes and ears open, and most importantly, search the library for any help she could get or information she could find.

Nearly lulled into dreams by the movement of the swing and the wind ruffling her hair, Hermione almost fell asleep.

But she couldn’t nap, that just wouldn’t do. It was imperative that she put all her time towards making the council. She wouldn’t stumble upon an opportunity like this again.

So, she picked herself up off the bench, sent the vines back from whence they came, and set off.

Her feet had gotten a bit dirty in her haste. She followed the sound of water, coming upon the little river that ran through this part of the forest.

She wasn’t the biggest fan of water, as she didn’t know how to swim but she knew that Marjorie wouldn’t be pleased if she left muddy tracks through the kitchen.

Carefully stepping in, she scrubbed one foot against the other, repeated the motion, and watched the dirt swirl free around her toes. Satisfied with the cleanliness of her feet, she took a step to leave the stream when something slimy and rough wound around her ankle. Brought to an abrupt stop, a startled screech flew from her lips.

Hermione twisted to glare down at her captured leg. A rogue vine had made itself at home there. Bending down, she slipped her fingers beneath the offending plant, giving an experimental tug.

It didn’t budge. Trailing her fingers over the bumpy surface of the vine, she murmured to it, willing it to untangle itself and set her loose.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, brow furrowed. This wasn't right. Why couldn’t she get it to move? It should have listened to her and moved with ease.

Hermione didn’t like it when she didn’t know what to do and frustration filled her, bubbling hot in her chest.

Angry at the plant that had trapped her and refused to respond, she wasn't quite thinking clearly when she shifted her weight, yanking her leg back as hard as she could.

Unfortunately, that didn't work to free her as she'd hoped and she fell backwards into the water with a furious cry.

* * *

The stables were not a place made for clandestine meetings unless you planned on leaping the stall gates and hunkering down with one of the beasts.

Draco didn't like horses and he didn't like dirt and he didn't like straw. Truly, he disliked a great many things.

Spotting the reason for this unseemly trip to the stables, he strode forward.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, inhaling the scent of grain and sweaty animals, and was sent into a sneezing fit when a bit of hay flew up his nose on the inhale. The horse in the stall to his left looked in Draco's direction and didn't even bat an eyelash, undisturbed by his outburst.

He was here for a single, solitary purpose: to meet with Snape and settle the curiosity that had been building higher and higher, ever since the older man had passed him in the hallway, muttering “Meet me in the stables tomorrow at midday,” under his breath.

So cryptic.

Draco straightened himself out, brushing hair back into place and dusting off his cloak. With an irritated raise of one pale eyebrow to the beast still staring at him, he came to a stop in front of his mentor, the man that had raised him ever since the father that didn't want him left his only son—just a toddler—on the outskirts of the castle grounds to fend for himself.

He really didn't know much about what led him to being taken in, as Snape wasn't a particularly verbose man. He remembered bits and pieces. He recalled being frightened and disoriented, hiding in the forest when the sky got dark and a storm came.

A man with a rather stern countenance had found him when the sun rose, where Draco had been huddled in the brush and somehow protected from the weather and the wildlife by a force that had come from within him, a power he had not known he had.

Pulled from his reminiscing by a drawn-out utterance of his name, he focused on the person before him.

“Do not breathe a word of this to anyone else, do you hear me?” Draco nodded in assent.

“Good. There is an open position to be had within the Croí na Cruinne, and you might have a sliver of a chance to win it if you try hard enough. Provided you don't cock it up.”

Ah yes, he could always count on dear old Snape to be encouraging.

Draco processed what he'd just been told.

It had been years—perhaps a decade or more—since that group of self-righteous old men and women had opened the gates to their secret world. Draco didn't much care for their haughty attitudes or nearly idolized reputations.

Yet, he could recognize the power such a role provided. The strength of his magic and the strength of his name would increase exponentially.

Turning, he rested his hands against the ladder leading to the hayloft, fingers tapping a rhythmless beat on the worn wood as he mulled over what he had just been told.

Though not a member of the council himself, Snape was an esteemed apothecary and potions master. He was highly regarded within their community and his knowledge was vast.

“What must I do, then?”

“They are not simply looking for a mage of impressive magic. They want to see an inner strength, the proof that you'll withstand the toll becoming a steward of magic takes on a person's soul.”

“And how do I show them that proof?”

“As you are aware, the Croí na Cruinne don't go around advertising when they have a vacancy. The best course of action would be to make yourself useful to them, and thus, make them aware of you. When you hear of a task that needs doing, do it. Practice your magic until you can do great feats in your sleep.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your wisdom.”

The stoic man scoffed, “I'm sure you do. Now, be gone from my sight.”

 _“Gladly,”_ he thought to himself.

The less time he had to spend pinned like a bug under the sharp eye of Severus Snape, the better.

He took his leave from the stables, immensely grateful for the clean air he took in, free from the stench of manure and mouldy grass. With another intake of fresh oxygen, he started up the path leading around the back end of the stables and up to the castle—and walked directly into a swarm of flies.

He swatted at the pests, cursing and squinting his eyes, trying not to breath lest one of the buggers decide to fly where they didn't belong.

“Blasted, infernal midges!”

No matter how many seasons passed, he would never get used to the heat of a Highland summer. Draco preferred the quiet chill of winter. With a pasty complexion he could only assume he inherited from the father he no longer remembered the face of, Draco simply wasn't built for the sun. He avoided the nasty thing as much as he could, planning his trips outside the castle after dusk when things started to cool down and moonlight lit his way.

Besides, the sun made him sweat and when he sweat, it ruined his artfully mussed hair and that just wouldn't do.

With a final, angry swipe at the insects that had interrupted his walk, he trudged along, over warm and irritated.

The path split off along the edge of the forest, and the relief of the shade beckoned him on. A bit of shut-eye couldn't hurt, and he didn't have to be back to his duties for a while.

He followed the path into the trees, coming to a stop beneath a particularly sturdy-looking elm that grew beside a nearby creek. Settling his cloak on the ground just so, he tucked his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

He'd been on the cusp of dreams when something startled him awake.

Listening for the source of the disturbance, he heard a feminine sounding “Oof!” and some frenzied splashing.

From the sound of it, someone was bumbling their way through the woods.

He shook his head and sighed, resigned to his fate. He wouldn’t be getting any more rest this afternoon, that was for certain. He might as well see what sort of intriguing creature had interrupted his slumber, carrying on as though she might be drowning in the shallow water.

Perhaps he could save her from the maniacal creek, swoop in with chivalry and rescue the fair maiden. Perhaps she was comely and she'd reward him with a kiss. In a castle so sparse of young blood, he took his thrills where he could get them.

Draco stood and moved towards the commotion, briefly tussling with a bush before breaking through the flora growing along the fertile banks of the stream.

He had just begun imagining what the mystery lass might do when overcome with willing gratitude when his eyes landed on the source of the splashing.

Even with her back to him, he knew immediately who it was that was frantically clawing at the water, clearly attempting to dislodge her foot from where it had gotten tangled in the thick weeds. With that terribly plain dress and the raven's nest she called hair, there was no mistaking the damsel that was currently in distress before him.

He lifted his eyes to the darkening clouds above, cursing his rotten luck.

“Having fun, 'Mione?” Wanting to prod, he used the childhood nickname she hated.

The wet lump in the water shrieked at the sound of his voice, falling back on her arse, limbs flailing every which way.

“Oh dear, did I frighten you? _Oops.”_

She narrowed her eyes at him through damp lashes.

“Sod off, Malfoy.” He assumed her expression was meant to be intimidating but she looked like an entirely harmless, soaking wet cat with her always-tangled hair hanging limply in her eyes.

“My my, cheeky aren't we?’

She turned her back to him once again, resolutely ignoring the taunt.

He watched her tug ineffectually at her trapped leg for a few more moments, committing the scene to memory for the next time she stuck her nose up and tried to act superior to him.

He thought about leaving her there for someone else to rescue, ultimately deciding that somehow, someway, Fleur would find out and have his hide for the ungentlemanly behaviour.

Carefully stepping out of his shoes and leaving them in a spot where they wouldn't get wet, Draco silently stepped through the stream, coming to a stop behind her.

“What seems to be the problem, then?”

She caterwauled once more, bony elbow swinging back to dig into his side.

“Merlin, woman, would you stop flopping about for a single moment?”

“Stop sneaking up on me, you foul cur!”

“Of course, m'lady. Next time I'll go with my instinct and leave you for some other poor sap to rescue.”

Before she could open her mouth in some pithy reply, he laid a palm on the surface of the water, whispering an incantation.

The submerged vines that had been curled around her leg released, twining themselves into a new pattern, sans foot.

Hermione stared at the water in consternation, likely to catch flies if she kept on gaping like that.

“But how—why would—how did you do that? I couldn't get it to respond to me at all.“

“It's called magic, Granger. You should try it sometime.”

“Stop being a prat.” She glanced at him, irritated, before frowning down at the water once more.

He swore his eyes made an audible _click_ as they rolled back in his head. “It's a rinspan vine. Sometimes they’re picky about who they let manipulate them. Are you sufficiently informed, now? Shall we finally take our leave of this muddy stream before the God of Thunder takes pity on me and strikes you down with a bolt of lightning?”

“Wait, I want to know more about—”

Slipping his arms around her shoulders and beneath her knees, he lifted her to his chest, wrinkling his nose as her algae-scented hair left wet tracks on his shirt and trying to ignore the fact that she didn’t feel altogether _too_ terrible in his arms.

“How dare you—Malfoy, unhand me this instant!”

“If you cease your uncalled-for warbling, we’ll both be on our separate ways far quicker.”

“It’s not uncalled for—”

“Do try to act like a lady for once in your life, Granger.”

She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a threat to his manhood.

When they reached the shore, he released her to unceremoniously drop to her feet, wincing when she shook her hair out like a wet dog and rained river water on the both of them.

“Classy, Granger.”

She lifted her chin and raised an eyebrow, saying, “Next time, don’t accost someone without their permission, and perhaps I’ll be more polite.”

And to think he’d been fantasizing about receiving a thank-you kiss just minutes earlier.

“Accost! I _saved_ you, you little chit—”

“I didn’t need saving.”

He threw his hands up, shoving his feet back into his shoes with a bit of struggle before turning back the way he came and stomping up the path, muttering about ungrateful females the whole while.

* * *

The library was vast and filled to the brim with countless scrolls and tomes. Hermione sat at a low table near a window, a stack of books taller than she was piled next to her. She had a roll of parchment that trailed down to the floor, covered in scribbled notes and an oil lamp hanging from a hook in the wall cast a warm glow, giving her just enough light to see.

She’d been here every day since she learned of the open spot on the council, searching the stacks for something she could use.

Currently, she was scanning a record of the Croí na Cruinne’s history and she hoped to glean some knowledge from it regarding what they might be looking for in a potential member.

She hadn’t had much luck in the history section, but she had found an old journal, bound with string, written by a council member from long ago. It detailed their daily lives and had given Hermione great insight.

The night was getting late and she was getting tired but refused to give in to sleep.

She turned the last page of the journal, eyes straining to follow the paragraph. Her notes were getting progressively messier as the night went on.

Her mind began to wander, and she thought about her horrid encounter with Malfoy on the day she learned of the council spot. How dare he take such liberties and just scoop her up without her permission? She was perfectly capable of walking on her own.

A little voice in the back of her mind said, “ _You liked it.”_

She didn’t. She _did not_ like being cradled in his arms. And besides, if she did—well, she was seventeen. Those kind of feelings were normal when interacting with the opposite sex. Her body was just responding to physical touch. It could have been the butcher's son and she’d have felt the same way, right?

Right.

Finished with the book, she set it on the table. She folded her arms atop it, resting her forehead against them for just a minute.

A minute turned to hours, and the next time her eyes opened, it was to see the nasty visage of Mr. Filch—the castle’s self-appointed Grand Catcher of Rule-Breakers.

“Wake up missy! Look at you, lazing around in the library, in a section you shouldn’t be in. What a mess you’ve made! I’ll be telling the Madame what you’ve done, you can bet on that.”

She squinted up at him, the early morning sun coming through the window making her head ache.

“I’m allowed special access to the library, Mr. Filch. If you ask Madame Fleur she’ll tell you as much.”

The sour-faced old man scowled at her, clearly displeased with her defence. Filch delighted in finding any reason he could to blame her for some misdeed. “I don’t want to see you in here for the rest of the day. Go on, get! And put everything back to rights.”

“I always do, Mr. Filch.”

“Don’t you backtalk me, lassie. I’ll see you punished for the disrespect.”

Trouble was, it was difficult to dredge up any semblance of respect for the foul man. He wasn’t blessed with the gift of magic, and he held a grudge against anyone who was. Why he was permitted to work in the castle was beyond her. Perhaps his family had connections or the staff simply felt sorry for him.

Hermione forced herself to her feet despite her grogginess. Nodding at Filch in what she hoped was polite acknowledgement, she hurried to put everything back in its place.

Shoving her rolled-up parchment in the pocket of her cloak, she hurried out of the library and down the hall to her chamber, desperate to be gone from bitter old Filch.

Just before reaching the room she shared with an older woman who worked in the kitchens, Hermione turned the corner a tad too quickly, smacking right into someone coming the opposite way, knocking the scrolls they were carrying out of their hands.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going—” Dropping to her knees, Hermione began scooping up the loose scrolls, trying to put them back in some semblance of order.

“Hermione, dear. It’s alright.”

Hermione looked up to see the face of the woman that had become a mother to her, relieved it wasn’t someone who might shout at her for being careless.

With the scrolls gathered in her arms, she rose to her feet.

For a long moment, nothing was said. Fleur simply studied Hermione’s face, raising a hand to brush back a stray curl from her brow and saying, “Don’t wear yourself out, child. I know you want to prove yourself worthy, to accomplish your goal. But there is plenty of time for learning and growing.”

Somehow, Fleur always had the right thing to say. She could sense Hermione’s feelings before they were even voiced, imparting wisdom and bringing comfort.

“Yes, madame. I’ll remember that.” Hermione wished she could take the words to heart, but the reality was, she wanted to be more than an orphan living on the coattails of someone else. She wanted to be able to take care of herself, to prove that her hard work all these years to be the best sorceress she could be was justified. She wanted her life to mean something.

Fleur looked at her just a second longer before kissing her cheek and taking the scrolls from Hermione. She turned to watch Fleur’s retreating form, knowing it was likely Fleur had seen right through her agreement and knew Hermione wouldn’t be slowing down in any way.

She made it to her chamber, dropping her satchel just inside the door. The girl she shared the room with was working and Hermione had the space to herself for a few blessed hours.

The mattress protested with a groan as she fell upon it, pulling out her notes to go over every bit of information she had collected. Her head was swimming but she couldn’t afford to waste any time.

* * *

Playing errand boy for dowdy old men was not his favourite pastime but Draco knew what side his bread was buttered on, and if it got him closer to being considered a council candidate, then so be it.

At this point, he might dance a jig if they asked it of him.

Finished with his chore of picking up a few items from the village blacksmith, Draco started his journey back home, ambling up the dusty street lined with merchants and ramshackle houses. Despite its ragged appearance, the village seemed to be thriving. He didn’t make it down here very often, usually only making the trip for supplies or the occasional drink at the tavern.

Children ran between buildings, squealing and chasing each other. There had been an influx of visitors from villages nearby, and the merchants selling their wares were prospering because of it.

Just as Draco was about to turn onto the road that would lead him back to the castle, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a bushy brown mass bobbing along.

He wondered what Granger was doing here. In the last few weeks, he’d seen her more than he’d like as she went flitting about the castle grounds, always in the library or taking off to the forest—not unusual behaviour for her.

While he normally wouldn’t give a flying fig about the comings and goings of his least favourite person, something about her as she hurried down the main road through town seemed off. She kept glancing rapidly from left to right, and her shoulders were hunched as though she were attempting to go unnoticed.

If she thought she could lay low with that unmistakable head of hair, she was sorely mistaken. The least she could have done was covered it with a hood, though Draco supposed he didn’t blame her for going without a cloak.

The summer had been ungodly hot and humid, forcing everyone to wear the least amount of layers they could get away with in an effort to keep from melting in the heat.

Still, the girl didn’t know the first thing about keeping a low profile. She was far too obvious.

He’d already missed dinner, and it was getting darker. Draco decided that he wouldn’t be missed if he stayed in the village just a bit longer, so he began to trail her, keeping enough distance between them so as not to alert her to his presence.

When she ducked into the tavern, his curiosity grew. What would she be doing in a place like that at twilight, unaccompanied?

Surely Fleur wouldn’t have sanctioned such an outing, which meant Granger was sneaking around, likely without permission... Which meant if he spied on her, he might learn something he could use against her later.

And that was just perfect.

As he reached the building she had disappeared into, he glanced in the window. He saw her frizzy head lower as she took a seat in the far corner, with her back to the door.

He slipped in the entrance, eyes trained on her as he found a place to stand in the shadows, mostly hidden by a thick beam of wood that supported the roof.

It was rather quiet in the tavern, atypical for this time of the evening. The rowdy crowd of drunkards and working men usually descended on the place at dusk.

From his vantage point he had a clear view of both the door and where Granger sat. When the door opened, his eyes followed the hooded figure that entered as they looked around for a moment, spotting Granger and moving toward her table, greeting her with a nod before sitting.

Whoever it was, they were clearly male from their stature, which made this discovery of his all the juicier.

 _“Granger’s alone, after dark, meeting a man in a pub. What is she up to?”_ His thoughts raced at the possibilities.

If he listened very carefully, he could hear bits of the conversation being had at the table in the corner.

“With your experience— the council might be looking for—” Granger gestured animatedly, still completely oblivious to the concept of staying undetected.

“You sho— to prove your mettle. Won’t be easy— ” The deeper voice was harder to catch, but Draco could put the pieces together easily enough.

Somehow, the snot-nosed bookworm had found out about the open spot. The very same position Draco wanted and had thought he would have little competition for.

Once again, she had beat him to the punch, something she had been doing since they were children. Always one step ahead, no matter how hard he worked. Their tutors had always favoured her, lavishing her in praise while telling Draco he could do better.

Of course, it was her that he now had to fight against. The castle’s precious princess, nearly incapable of doing wrong in the eyes of those who had raised them.

Draco seethed silently in the shadows, already plotting how he might slow her down and give himself the advantage.

The conversation at the table in the corner seemed to be finished and as Granger’s mysterious companion stood, the light from the hanging lanterns shifted across his face just long enough for Draco to recognize him.

Not just any old informant, then. The man was Pádraig Kerr, a mage who had been disgraced and thrown out of the castle on his arse in the previous year.

Though he’d once been a highly regarded member of the Croí na Cruinne—among their ranks for many seasons—he was now a pariah, living on the outskirts of magical society. Granger had to be desperate to risk being seen with him.

On the other hand, whatever information he had shared with her was likely highly valuable, and would help her in their race for the spot—one she didn’t yet know she was racing.

Having seen enough, Draco left the tavern, tucking himself in the dark space to the side of the building, lying in wait for the woman he knew wouldn’t think to slip out the back, instead leaving the way she came.

When she did exactly that and he caught sight of her shadow in the rapidly fading light, he waited until she crossed directly in front of his hiding place, reaching out to snag her arm. Moving quickly, he flipped their positions so her back was to the sidewall, with his front pressed against her squirming body as she tried to free herself. He caught her wrists and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make a sound.

Bringing his mouth to her ear, Draco said, “Do you know the kind of trouble you could be in if Fleur catches you returning to the castle this late? What do you think she’ll do when I tell her you met a man, _alone?_ ”

He had foolishly forgotten about her legs as a potential weapon, and she used the leeway to kick him in the shin with her pointy-toed boot.

“Bloody hell, you witch.” He reared back but kept his grip on her, breathing through the pain.

Before he had the chance to brag some more at his advantage over her, she bit him hard, looking victorious when he pulled his hand back from her mouth and shook out the sting, feeling blood bead on his skin.

Instead of screaming as he expected, she said, “You snitch on me and I’ll go straight to Snape with what I saw last week. Mainly, you, stealing from his storeroom.”

Draco's lip curled up as he stared down at her smug face, wondering how she could have spotted him when he had been so careful to avoid being caught. He'd needed some fire seeds for his experiments—experiments he hoped would expand his knowledge and get him ever closer to gaining a council appointment.

 _“Always one step ahead,”_ he thought with disdain. Her bottom lip was stuck out just a bit as she gloated and he found himself now staring at her pink mouth.

“Malfoy?”

His eyes snapped back to hers immediately, forcing his features into a sneer to distract from the fact that he had maybe, probably—actually— _wanted_ to kiss her for one insane moment.

Realizing his only option at this point was brute force, he leaned in until their noses brushed.

“It’s abundantly clear that we are both aware of the opening on the Croí na Cruinne. I will not be outdone by you. You _will_ stay out of my way, or I _will_ become your worst nightmare.”

He was once again caught off guard when Granger didn't shake with fear but smiled up at him with a feral glint in her eyes.

“I'm not scared of you, Malfoy. You’re worried I’ll best you—again. You're only threatening me because the one who is afraid is _you_.”

Furious at the truth in her statement, he released her, shoving her away to lean his forehead against the rough wood siding.

She scampered away, starting off down the road on the short trip back to the castle.

Draco lashed out in anger, slamming his fist into the wall, catching splinters in his knuckles.

Couldn't something just go right for him, for once?

* * *

“Hullo there, miss Hermione!”

Hermione turned to see Hagrid lumbering towards her, a sack of oats under one arm and a bucket in the other. Her tension eased at the sound of the gentle man’s voice, bringing a smile to her face.

“Hello, Hagrid. How are you this fine day?”

“Well, I’m right chuffed, miss Hermione. The Occamy eggs I’ve been waiting on to hatch are about there, I can just feel it. Any day now!”

“That’s wonderful news. I do hope you’ll allow me to stop by the nursery and see the babies once they’re born.”

“‘Course, snowpea. You’ll be the first to know.”

She grinned at the nickname. Hagrid had been a guiding presence in her life from the day she'd arrived at the castle, wide-eyed and “just a little sprout.” He had told her she had him wrapped around her finger from the minute she first smiled at him.

Hermione didn’t like to manipulate people, but there were moments when there was just no other option. Desperate times and all that. She had come out to the mooncalf pasture for a reason, after all.

Pouring on the charm, she said, “I was wondering if I could borrow something from you.  Last week, when that little calf was ill—you remember, of course—you administered stinksap and it was brought back to health.”

“Right you are. Lucky, weren’t we? Poor fella was on the brink, he was.”

“Indeed. You knew just what to do! That little guy was lucky to have you taking care of him.”

“Ah well, Miss Hermione. I was just doing my job.”

“Well, you did it very well. Anyway, do you suppose I could have a bit of stinksap if you’ve got any left?”

“I sure do, but what do you need it for, snowpea?”’

She hadn’t thought that far ahead and didn’t have an alibi. Scrambling for something believable, she said, “Oh, uh, well—Ginny’s owl is sick, with some sort of watery substance leaking from its beak.  She’s been so busy, you know, so she sent me to see if you had any sap to spare, so she could try it as a remedy for poor Errol.”

“Sounds like Errol might have a cold. The sap should take care of that right quick, I reckon. Wait here while I go grab it from the shed.”

As Hagrid walked off, Hermione crouched in front of the animal enclosure, sticking her hand through the slats of the fence to pet the head of a juvenile mooncalf.

“Hi there, little guy. Aren’t you sweet?” she said as the creature nudged against her hand, eager for more attention.

Hermione was thrilled her plan was working well so far. Now all she needed to do was set the trap.

Hagrid returned, handing her a small container of the sap, with instructions to handle it carefully.

She thanked him and set off to the other side of the castle, by the lake, where she knew Draco often practised his magic.

* * *

Concentrating hard, Draco watched as a shield formed in front of him, shimmering and rather weak but there all the same. He felt satisfaction flow through him. His hard work was paying off. If he kept at it, perhaps he’d impress the Croí na Cruinne after all.

He waved a hand and the shield disappeared. Bracing his feet, Draco got back into position, preparing to conjure the shield once more. This time, he closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the magic flowing down his arms, flowing through his fingertips.

Just as he began to speak the incantation, he felt something thick and liquid splat against his back and his eyes flew open, searching for the source of the attack.

He whirled around in the direction the ambush had come from, only to have the same thing happen again, but coming from the opposite direction.

There were multiple attackers, then. Coming at him from both sides. But why couldn’t he see anyone?

He looked up just in time to see a burlap pouch fly toward him, and he managed to move back so that it only grazed his chin.

That’s when the smell hit him.

He fell to his knees, gagging. Oh, it was awful. The stench was so overwhelming he couldn’t get his thoughts together to recognize what it was. Through the fog encompassing his senses, he glanced up and caught sight of the massive willow tree that stood watch on the shore of the lake.

Its branches were moving in a way that a breeze wouldn’t be able to do. In fact, the tree reared back, as one might do when preparing to throw a ball.

Draco was so perplexed by the bizarre tree that he didn’t notice the stinky missile it lobbed at him, aimed straight for his head.

Fucking stinksap, is what it was. He could tell that clearly now that it was dripping off his nose.

There was only one person with reason enough to employ nature for nefarious purposes against him.

That little— “GRANGER!”

The tree made a rude gesture in response, and Draco swore, staggering to his feet and trying to breathe through his mouth.

Stinksap took forever to get out of your pores, sinking in and making its smelly self at home.

The plans he had to speak to one of the elders tonight—to get his name in their ear—was pointless now. He’d surely make them faint if he turned up smelling like this.

Wiping sap from his eyes, Draco shouted in the general direction of the willow, “This means war, Granger!”

* * *

Hermione stomped along the corridor, dripping wet and spitting mad.

She’d been reading in the garden that sat alongside one wall of the castle with all her notes and several open books spread out around her. She was finally starting to make headway in understanding how to truly harness her magic when suddenly the sky opened up and poured rain upon her precious notes and library books.

Except it hadn’t been rain—it had been cloudless and sunny all day.

No, it wasn’t mother nature having a laugh at her expense. It was that low-down, conniving, little weasel.

She’d blinked through the water streaming down her face to see Malfoy behind the garden wall, looking smug as he lifted his hands in the air, making the water from the fountain stream from its stone basin to pour directly down to where she sat.

Hermione had tried to make a weed snag his foot before he flounced away, but the surprise had scrambled her brain and she couldn’t concentrate well enough to do more than make the grass grow a few inches.

She consoled herself with the fact that Madame Pince would certainly fillet him for damaging books that didn’t belong to him.

Unfortunately, that didn’t repair her ruined parchments or bring back all the hours she’d spent meticulously taking notes.

To say she was livid would be an understatement. In the last month, the harmless pranks she and Malfoy had been pulling on each other had escalated to full-blown sabotage. They’d been reprimanded several times, but it didn’t stop them from continuing to the bitter end. They were both determined to come out the victor, to be appointed to the Croí na Cruinne and live happily ever after.

Hermione wasn’t so sure this would end in anything resembling happiness.

She couldn't say she was completely innocent, however. She had started this farce, of course, with the stinksap.

And when he had retaliated, she obviously couldn't let it go, so she struck back.

Over and over this happened—back and forth and back again.

She thought she would regret what she did to him last, as that's what led to him taking drastic measures and destroying her research.

She didn't, though. Regret it, that is.

She had taken shears to every piece of clothing he owned, then set fire to his curtains while he was bathing, ready with a pail to snuff it out. She didn't want to murder the idiot, after all. She merely wanted to scare him with a little humiliation thrown in for good measure.

And humiliate him she had. It had been glorious.

He’d flown from behind the partition and proceeded to run through the castle, naked as the day he was born, dangly bits bouncing about. In his panic he’d apparently forgotten he held the power to douse the flames with the water from his bath without even standing up, instead running directly to the nearest well to fetch a bucket—entirely nude.

She had gotten a stitch in her side from laughing so hard.

She was still angry, despite her mirth at his expense. It was crossing a line to ruin someone's hard work and research like that.

Reaching her destination and raising a fist, she knocked on the door with perhaps a bit more than necessary force.

“Entrez,” came the voice from within.

Fleur looked up as Hermione entered, blonde hair that was now streaked with grey shining in the rays of light coming through the window. She'd asked Hermione to meet with her, though it was doubtful that this was the state she had expected her to be in.

A twitch of the older woman's lips was the only change in her expression as she took in the soggy girl now standing in her study.

Rising, Fleur took the blanket that was draped over the upholstered chair in the corner and wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders. She took Hermione's hands in her own and folded them over the thick fabric, guiding her to sit before settling back in behind her desk.

“Explain to me what happened.”

She wouldn’t give Draco up—angry though she was—for it would only serve to bring herself into trouble alongside him so instead she said, “I had an accident.”

Fleur nodded her head, pretending to be satisfied with that answer, though Hermione knew she wasn’t.

“I see. And was this 'accident’ similar to the others that seem to have befell you in recent days?”

Hermione looked at her lap. “I'm very unlucky.”

A hum was all she got in response.

“Would you like to hear a story, mon petit cœur?”

Expecting a lecture, Hermione was surprised by the question and lifted her face to answer by rote, “Yes, Madame.”

“I was near to your age when I met my late husband. I was expected to marry into wealth, to be matched with someone of a similar social class to my family. I had been taught all my life that people who were different were less and I believed this to be true.”

Fleur had told her many tales over the years, but Hermione didn't think she had ever heard this particular one. Fleur's husband, William, had died when Hermione was young, and she couldn't recall much about him—other than that he had been strong and kind.

“As you know, I was sent here to Britain to study and be trained for my eventual duties as a wife to a foreign monarch.”

Hermione nodded. She remembered that Fleur had come from a life where she was little more than a pretty doll, passed around for political gains.

“There was a man who worked with the scholars translating old texts here at the castle. He had suffered an accident that left his face badly scarred, making him a bit of an outcast. As I said, we as humans sometimes fall into the belief that different is bad. Mon Dieu, was I ever so wrong. He was the first one to treat me like a person, and not just a simpering princess with cotton between her ears. He challenged me. It was infuriating at times when I just wanted him to concede that I was right about something, even if I was not. But he did not. He helped me grow as a person.”

Fleur’s eyes took on a faraway look as she continued, “He was so intelligent and oh, the things we spoke about. The important things, not drivel about the weather or who is courting who. Everything about him intrigued me. Yet, I was so hesitant to let myself fall for him. We were so different. Different backgrounds, different places in life. ”

“We were the very opposite of each other, but that is precisely what was so beautiful about it. The two of us filled spaces in each other. What made us different made us strong because we were two jagged pieces coming together. Still, I worried what others might think. What would my parents think? It was then I realized that it did not matter. I wanted a life filled with love and contentedness. The money did not matter, the influence did not matter.”

Hermione listened as Fleur went on, “It took some time, but I realized William was my equal, and I no longer wanted to settle for anything less than that."

“Do you understand what I’m speaking to you, mon cher?”

With a sigh, Hermione nodded. “Sometimes opposite isn’t so opposite after all.”

The smile that spread across Fleur’s face was beatific as she beamed at Hermione, “That’s my bright girl. I think you know what you must do.”

Standing, Hermione pulled the blanket tight around her. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it," she grumbled as she moved to leave.

As she was shutting the door behind her, she looked back at Fleur and the woman said nothing, merely winking at her with mirth in her blue eyes.

Out of sight of Fleur, Hermione rolled her own eyes, dragging her feet down the corridor.

* * *

“Malfoy!”

The shrill voice outside the door to his chamber was intruding on his downtime and he wasn't happy about it. She'd been there for at least 5 minutes, banging on the door and vacillating between sweet coercion and creatively brutal threats if he didn't open up and listen to her.

“Go away.”

“What I have to say is important. I will not leave until I've had a chance to say my piece and I want to say it to your face.”

Groaning, Draco pushed up from his reclined position on the bed to trudge his way to the door, realizing the harpy out in the hall wouldn’t just disappear like he wished she would.

Pulling back the door, he found himself face-to-face with a damp and bedraggled Granger and forced himself not to grin at the evidence of his latest victory.

“Firstly, you _do not_ mess with someone’s notes. That was precious research that could possibly help people in the future and you destroyed it without a thought.”

Of course, the know-it-all would find the ruining of notes to be his most heinous crime.

“You turned my clothes to ribbons and set my room on fire!”

“But I wouldn’t have touched your intensely researched notes, had you taken the time to make any. You do understand the difference, right?

Barmy, is what she was. An absolute nut. Maybe she needed a healer…

“I want to propose a truce, Malfoy.”

“I'll have you know that—I beg your pardon? What did you say?” Surely he couldn't have heard her right.

“Fighting with each other is only holding us back. We both want the same thing. If we practised together, studied together, we could both grow stronger and whoever wins the spot on the Croí na Cruinne will have won it by talent and skill. Wouldn’t you rather they chose you on your own merit and not because you played dirty? I know I would.”

Leaning a shoulder against the door frame, he said, “See, I don’t have any particular attachment to those pesky things called morals so I don’t really mind if it’s fair play or—”

“Malfoy.”

Deciding that agreeing with her would get her to stop glaring at him and leave, he nodded.

“Great. I’m glad we can at least agree on that.”

“This has been a delightful conversation, Granger, but are we done here?”

“I have one more thing to say,” she said, like he didn’t already know there would be more coming out of her mouth. He blinked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“You are quite possibly the single most annoying person on this planet—”

“Yeah well, you're not so—”

“Let. Me. Finish.”

Shite, she was actually a little scary when she spoke like that.

“You are quite possibly the most infuriating person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

She arched an eyebrow as if daring him to interrupt. When he said nothing, she continued.

“However, you are passably handsome and sometimes my heart races when I'm near you.”

Draco felt a slow smile creep across his face.

“Is that so?”

“I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't so. Stop trying to be sly, prat. Just be honest.”

“Alright then, hellcat. I can honestly say you drive me crazy, and not in the fun way. You are stubborn as a mule and too ambitious for your own good and you've been one-upping me since we were children.”

“Looking at you now, though, I suppose you are rather pretty.” And also unbelievably clever, though he'd be reluctant to admit such a thing to her face.

“Don’t act so coy. I’ve caught you staring at me during meals.”

“That’s because you always have something on your face.”

It was her turn to smirk. “Uh-huh. Sure. Tell me something, do you want to kiss me, Malfoy?”

For a split second his gaze flicked to her mouth, and that was all it took.

“Merlin help me, I do.”

Suddenly she was on him, arms dropping the blanket she held to wind themselves around his neck, standing on her toes to reach his lips. He was taken aback by her ardour; he expected her to be some sort of prim, prudish miss.

Gaining control of his senses, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in the room to press her back against the door. She tasted so good, nothing like a dried prune as he’d always assumed. There were quite a few things he was realizing he wasn’t right about, but he wasn’t particularly upset to be wrong.

Sure, they weren’t suddenly the best of friends. But Draco could admit that banding together in their shared mission would likely yield better results than if they continued as they were, on track to bring the castle walls tumbling down around them. And of course, having someone to kiss wasn’t so bad.

If this is what working together looked like, then he was all for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kyonomiko and InDreams for putting on this wonderful fest.
> 
> I'm quite excited to further explore elemental magic, so this will likely be expanded upon and become my first ever multi chapter :)
> 
> Thank you for reading. I'd love to know your thoughts! Constructive criticism is always welcome.


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